


Offering

by Miss_Lv



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Knotting, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mating Rituals, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Oblivious Newt, Ritual Public Sex, Secret Relationship, Sex with Sentient Animals, Size Difference, Virgin Newt, consort, mentions of past underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 09:16:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16092623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Lv/pseuds/Miss_Lv
Summary: Newt has grown up in a little village that worships the god Graves and now that he's of age he's to attend his first ritual offering.Wonder how that goes.





	Offering

**Author's Note:**

> Cute smut. 
> 
> Autumn makes me want all the old world forest gods, all of themmmmm.

Newt woke slowly with his body warm but the tip of his nose cold. He snuggled himself deeper into his blanket furs and pressed closer to Theseus for his body heat, hiding his face from the cold air. The cottage was quiet but the light of the morning was beginning to show, letting Newt see around the room that was their home. His parents were sleeping in their bed on the other side of the fire. The embers still glowing faintly. It wasn’t far enough into autumn that they needed to keep the fire going all night for the heat.

Shivering at the crisp morning on his cheeks, Newt curled into his bedding a bit more. He enjoyed the moment of calm comfort before he sighed and got up for the day. With care not to lift the furs and let out the heat that would give Theseus a chill, Newt slipped from the bedding. His clothing was tucked in between the furs they used as blankets and nice and warm for him. He wore an undershirt and leggings already but the added outer layer was comfortably warm to slip into. His socks hung by the fire and were also still warm to the touch as he dressed and did his boots up for the day. Without making a sound to wake anyone, Newt picked up his bag and slipped out of the cozy single room house. The rest of the village was still asleep as well, the sun not peeking yet, only just showing the barest hint of waking for the day. Newt had always been up first and he rather liked it.

It meant he would have a bit of time to himself.

Newt took a few deep breaths in, feeling the cool air fill his lungs and wake him up fully, sleeping letting go of him as he started off towards the forest line.

 

He walked along the worn forest path, brisk morning air making him shiver a bit but it would ease as he moved. His breath was visible in puffs as he left the trail and began off to the north. With practiced ease he meandered through the forest, knowing the unseen paths since he was a boy. Every unique tree recognizable as path markers to him. He stopped to pick a few leaves and tuck them into his bag, collecting what the village could use with care not to strip and kill the plants.

“Good morning,” he greeted the deer he passed and he smiled up at the birds as they chipped and woke for their day as well.

Many people found the forest daunting, dangerous and deadly.

Newt had never seen it as such, always feeling welcomed among the trees. If anything, it was the village where he felt the most awkward, never fitting in with other people. He had always felt like a outside among other people, as if he was trying too hard to match them or not hard enough, never seeming to maintain friendships properly. Newt walked along a fallen log and mused that he was far more fair footed out in the forest then he ever felt on the flat stone of the village.

A branch snapped and Newt paused, looking to his right to see a large elk lifting it’s great head, mouth full of grass as it chewed contently. Most would startle to see a human but this one knew Newt and so remained where it was, eating as it watched Newt wave and continue past.

It made him feel a bit guilty when the hunters found no game in the area and Newt knew there was many. But the animals trusted Newt as well, not to harm them himself or bring harm upon them either. The village ate well enough anyway.

The Graves saw to that. His great skull and horns symbol carved into the stone altar in the middle of the village. It was displayed proudly do all that came through knew which god they worshipped. Graves was a legendary god but not a great mighty one that might forget them among the hundreds of thousands who honoured them. But that also meant no great miracles would come to them from Graves. The village was content with the balance, they had to work hard but no cruel times fell on them either. Game remained in the area even if it did thin at times, the harvest always grew but was sometimes less than previous years. A balance. A give and take but one that left them able to survive each year.

The Graves way.

Newt heard the crunch of leaves, something large, and he looked up to find nothing in sight.

Smiling, he closed his eyes and reached out, letting something in him guide each step. Something unseen and unexplained. Faith, his mum called it. Magic, Theseus supposed. Instinct, his dad decided.

Newt’s fingers found warm fur and he stepped closer eagerly, burying his face into the heat and sighing as the autumn chill left his bones completely. A magical sort of warmth pouring into him.

Percival huffed out, amused as Newt snuggled into his side.

“Hello,” Newt breathed, opening his eyes slowly and letting the focus come as it pleased. Percival could be hard to see, able to be unseen when he wished. No one else in the village had ever spoken of seeing him. His ilk were very mysterious, one of the many creatures of the land that were more in the realm of the gods than mortals. Magical. Newt had only seen a handful in his life and he adored each moment he had to look upon them. He was grateful that Percival made his home in this forest and had been willing to let Newt ever see him.

Percival came into view gradually, he looked very beastly today. Like an oversized mix between a bear and wolf with a bit of almost human shaped limbs added. Dusky brown grey fur with streaks of silver gray. But he often changed his appearance, sometimes more human and other days more a beast. The only thing consistent about him was the large set of antlers on his head, all pointed and gleaming sharply. Perhaps if Newt hadn’t met him as a child, he’d be more afraid of Percival, with his long claws and predatory gaze. His great hulking body and mix of flesh and fur, a monstrous beast that would certainly scare the wits of the village. But to Newt he was merely Percival, a dear friend. A creature who followed him since he was a boy and had led him home a few times when he had grown lost or it had become late into the night.

“I was hoping I would find you today, the village is getting busy with preparations for the harvest celebration and I won’t be able to visit much soon.”

Newt smiled and unhappily gave up Percival’s body heat to step back. It seemed to linger however, keeping him warm and the chill away from him.

“How have you been? Are the animals preparing for winter?” Newt asked lightly, walking along the forest with care not disturb the young plants growing from the dirt. Percival rumbled in reply, never speaking a word in all the years Newt knew him. But his gaze was keen and aware, he knew what Newt was saying, even if he never answered beyond rumbles and growls.

Newt walked the path to the river as he did each morning, stopping to pick berries were they were ready. He popped a few into his mouth and licked the juices on his lips. The sun was rising now, warming the air as morning dew gleaming in the light. It made the forest that much more gorgeous and it always stole Newt’s breath away to see the sunlight through the trees.

“I think autumn is my favourite season, I love them all, but there something about the end of summer that seems so perfect,” Newt rambled easily. “The weather is perfect, not too hot or too cold, just enough of both. Everything is finally ready to eat and the land is so pretty,” he smiled up at the trees, eager to see the yellows and red emerge. He could already smell the change, that specific scent of leaves and cold mingling.

Percival huffed at his side, not agreeing or disagreeing. He either had opinions or care little, rarely concerned about things. Very calm for a big predator of the forest.

Feeling content with the world, Newt arrived at the point in the river he liked best. A nice narrow break with grass so fish had a tendency to linger. A great old tree that had fallen long ago to provide a walkway for Newt to venture along the water’s edge and fish. He left a wood spear he had carved along the trees and fetched it now to spear a few fish.

“Are you hungry?” Newt asked, sometimes Percival took the fish offering and other times he refused. The great beast looked away, more keen on the shoreline than the fish so likely not interested in eating.

Quicker than usual, Newt caught two nice sized trout and sat on the shore to gut them. Birds landing around him to gobble up the guts he discarded eagerly. Newt whistled with them, singing soft songs together as he worked and let them take what he wouldn’t eat. Some sat on his shoulder, content to share his body heat while a few more adventurous ones inspected his bag, knowing there were berries inside it.

“I might not be able to come out as much for a bit, with the celebration preparation beginning, it’s my first proper time attending the ritual you see. I’ve only just come of age,” Newt explained to the gathered creatures but mostly Percival, who laid beside them all napping lightly. Birds sat on his antlers, unafraid of the magical creature. His eyes slid open and gaze turning to Newt. It was always a bit startling, to feel the weight of his eyes on him. Like a big old bear sizing Newt up and wondering if he would make a good snack. But Percival wasn’t like that. He’d have eaten Newt long ago if so.

“I’m excited a bit, Theseus has been going for a few years and talks of it lots. But Theseus has favour with Graves so it makes sense that he would have fun.”

Each year of the celebration, the god would pass through the village and marked his favoured family with a fresh kill, a deer that would feed the family well. Theseus was an excellent hunter and very fair about it, never going after animals with babies or setting cruel snares. The god Graves was a hunter himself and he liked Theseus enough to show favour. Each morning after the celebration Newt’s family woke to a deer outside their door, the only in the village to win such an honour. But it was a very good thing, as it meant the god would assist the whole village and look after them all. Theseus was very well liked because he helped keep them all safe. Newt was very proud of his big brother and eager to see the ritual offering to the god. The children of the village went to bed when the light faded but the adults stayed up much later and danced and shared drinks and merriment not suited to children. Newt hoped he would be included, Theseus had always made sure he was so Newt felt confident he would enjoy the night celebration as much as he did the daytime part.

“I hope it goes well,” Newt admitted softly, a part of him hoping that this step into maturity would help him make closer bonds with the villagers. They weren’t cold or cruel to him, but Newt had always felt a bit different from them. Never able to find his place among them as easily as Theseus always had, able to charm anyone it felt like.

Percival got up and padded over to Newt, nuzzling his face lightly and Newt smiled in return.

“I can’t, I’ve got to get back early today,” he explained gently as he pushed the beast away and stood up, hanging his fish on the end of a stick with a bit of rope to be able to carry them home without out smearing fish all over his clothing.

Percival huffed again, following Newt. His from shifting so seamlessly, becoming more human looking as he grumbled at Newt in displeasure.

“I’m sorry, I really do have to be home, I promised to help mum gather flowers today,” he divulged. He received a more louder grumble and the beast pushed up at Newt’s back, making him stumble a bit.

“Percival!” Newt scolded without true heat, his face flushing as the monster nuzzled at his shoulder eagerly. Human-like hands curled on his hip, holding them in place as Percival pulled Newt’s backside into his lap and humped at him. He was upright now, walking like a man but more like a bear than a person, those huge antlers looming over Newt.

“I p-promised,” he protested and Percival made a soothing sound in reply, really not caring where Newt was supposed to be.

“What will happen if I offend Graves and he leaves my village? Then we’ll all perish and who will you hump then?”

Newt let his bag and the fish slip from his hold however, feeling his body being stirred up with each lazy thrust against his backside. He could feel the length of Percival growing thick and eager.

Another reason Newt was odd, he thought. This perverse hunger inside him, not for women but for men, for beastly monsters in the forest even. Percival was the only one to ever do this sort of thing with Newt but he felt that pull towards all male bodies. He had never lusted for a woman in his life and Newt knew he was different for that. 

Percival urgently pushed him down and Newt went with a breathy sound, body excited. His knees hitting the grass as he knelt down on his hands and knees, long dangerous claws careful as they pulled his leggings and under things down around his knees. The cool morning air on his skin and then the heat of breath washing against it.

Newt wasn’t sure how old he was when this began, back when sex first began to interest him he supposed. Percival had been his friend since Newt was a toddler, seeing him over his mother's shoulder, peeking at the beast no one else saw. Newt had grown up running wild in the forest, safe in Percival’s shadow. Nothing ill ever came for him, no predator beast ever looked at Newt when such a huge monster loomed over him. He had spent lazy summers laying on Percival’s back when he was mostly a beast, lumbering along as Newt rode him and felt the sun warm his back, the musky scent of Percival’s fur soothing.

At some point growing up Newt had begun to feel sexual want, hips rolling against his palm as he touched himself. He shared a bed with Theseus, always had to keep warm and to stay safe. So Newt couldn't fumble at night, he’d die of embarrassment if Theseus woke and found out. The only time he had away from other people was in the forest and so before long he was settled under the trees, hand in his pants exploring.

Graves was a known for fertility as well so such things were encouraged, to be sexual and enjoy the sensations of the body. It would have been fine if Percival didn't take notice of it all. Always so nosy about things, coming to see and shoving his face to see what Newt was doing. He was a great imposing creature and Newt couldn’t overpower him, so when Percival wanted to see something, he got to see. Newt ended up without his leggings multiple times, being licked and explored, that wet hot tongue doing things to him he never knew he could feel. Newt always a bit dazed afterward, his knees wobbling a bit.  

He had grown up that way, Percival taking what he wanted and Newt always breathless after, dripping his own seed down his thighs. It wasn’t common to prefer the same gender, it meant fewer children for the village and wasn’t approved of. Newt would struggle to be allowed to marry another man, Graves had never blessed or disapproved such a match before. But asking was a very high risk to take. Also the idea of taking home a monstrous creature to his parents was ridiculous. They would ever see passed his looks to the intelligent being inside. Newt supposed that meant he might never marry, that he might spend his whole life with a secret beast lover. But there was an old lady in the village who never married. She was talented with herbs however and so allowed to be odd. If Newt could learn a skill well enough, he might be allowed as she was.

“P-Percy,” Newt whined out, the first wet lap of a tongue his skin making him shiver and jolting Newt from his thoughts. It felt so dirty and wrong, to be touched there but something about it also very, so very, good. It made the hunger in Newt’s belly twist up and his own cock go hard and needy.

Each wet slurping sound made him whimper, the feel of the hot breath on his skin and then that long lap made Newt clutch at the grass. His hips rocked of their own intent, Newt panting quickly as Percival worked, got Newt’s lust so riled up he was gasping out and shoving back. Feeling Percival's long monster tongue press at his hole, wanting to invade Newt’s body, pushing so intently. Newt he closed his eyes tight and focused on that feeling. His hole fluttering as he felt the sloppy kisses against it.

Newt felt Percival pull back a touch and then his long tongue lapped at Newt’s hanging cock. Percival lifted Newt’s weight easily, his knees lifting off the grass as Percival held him by the hips so he could reach as he pleased without bending down so far. He licked at Newt’s cock, catching the stray drips from the tip and making it throb even harder with each wet slurp.

“Percy,” he whined out, far too loud in the calm forest as he shivered and spilled his seed. The monster was ready for it, licking it all up before it could fall to the grass. He leisurely cleaned Newt after, grooming him more than teasing it felt like as Newt gasped for his breath. Eventually he was set back down onto his hands and knees and Newt wasn’t surprised when Percival was over his back.

“I really do have to go home,” Newt whispered meekly, face feeling hot and red as the monster over him nuzzled his ear and licked at Newt’s neck. He felt the heat of Percival’s long thick cock brushing over Newt’s thighs, his leggings tangled at his knees still. He leaned forward a bit, pressing his thighs together as Percival arranged himself over Newt’s slight body. Pressing so he could rut his cock between Newt’s thighs. The length already dripping and making a slippery mess.

Feeling so dizzily eager, Newt tried to ignore his spent cock wanting another round. They could go back and forth four or fives times some days. But Newt couldn’t waste time. Still, it would be far too rude to let himself spill and not return the favour. So Newt laid plaint and willing, his body rocked with each lunge of Percival’s powerful form. His cock moving back and forth between Newt’s thighs as he pressed them together, feeling that fat length sliding back and forth.

Percival licked at his ear and the side of his face, scenting his hair and grooming and he rumbled approvingly. Drenched sounds filled the air, the wet thump each time Perceval pressed forward, his fur growing wet at his lap and feeling so dirtily wrong and oh so good against Newt’s skin.

Newt let out soft sounds, unable to keep them down. They were rhythmic to each thrust the beast gave. As Percival’s pace increased so did Newt’s moans. The beast going faster now, pumping hard and Newt could feel the slick on his thighs increasing. Percival produced a generous amount of seed, often dripping a great deal during sexual acts and coming a big mess as well. Newt could feel and hear the lewd slaps, his skin soaked now, hot semen running down his thighs. Whimpering as Percival huffed in his ear and fucked his thighs relentlessly Newt could feel himself getting hard and throbbing so fast. The way Percival was pounding against him so stimulating, making him want more, the burn of being filled up.

Newt wanted to be fucked.

They had done so many things together, but Percival had never tried to penetrate Newt, always content between his thighs. Newt had tried to coax him a few times but Percival had always resisted. Newt wasn’t sure yet what was holding the beast back but he would figure it out eventually. Find a way for their bodies to be connected in the most intimate way possible.

Crying out at the idea of it, of Percival truly fucking him, Newt felt Percival began to swell up and pulse tellingly. He clenched his thighs as the monster over him growled out and lunged as far as he could, the tip poking out under Newt as it spilled. Quickly, he shoved a hand under his belly and cupped the pulsing tip. The hot splash of seed into his palm, overfilling right away and falling to the grass as Newt yanked his shirt higher up to avoid messing it. He didn't have time to wash it in the river.

Percival’s seed poured out, dripping down between his fingers steadily, warm enough to be almost hot. Thick and sticky as Percival snarled out and Newt’s hips rocked on their own, his own cock dragging against the wet grass, everything slicked with Percival’s seed and the slide enough to make him spill a second time. Newt whimpered out, Percival’s tongue on his neck as he shivered and slumped to the ground. He kept his thighs tight for Percival’s benefit.  

He let the big monster groom him as he pleased, lazily licking at Newt's neck and hair affectionately. The throbbing faded after a bit and Newt could feel the knot in Percival’s cock go down signalling he was finished his release. Once Newt felt like he could get up steadily, he began to wiggle out from under his beastly lover. Percival grumbled but let him, pulling up so Newt could roll to the side and avoid getting the puddle of semen on his leggings. There was bit on the fabric, of course, there always was, but not so much he couldn't wipe it away. His one hand already dripping messily.

With a fond sigh, Newt went about cleaning himself up. He got his leggings back up one handed and went to the river shore to wash himself up as best as he could. Percival followed him lazily, relaxed now that he’d gotten a go at Newt.

“There you go,” Newt told him, going to his side and reaching over to drop a kiss to Percival’s head lightly. “Don’t be all mopy with me when I take a bit to come around again, I really do have to help out with the celebration,” he explained gently.

Newt retrieved his bag, glad to see he still had fish and no one had come and stolen them while he was preoccupied.

“Wish me luck? I do really hope this goes well,” Newt called, waving to Percival who remained at the river’s edge as Newt headed back to the village.

 

It went as Newt expected it would, not great but not horrid either. He didn’t make any sudden new friendships but people were nice to him. He stayed by his family's side mostly, helping Theseus clean his kills and his father gather wheat and vegetables in the field for the harvest. He helped his mother pick flowers and herbs to dry, working to create a strong offering to give to the god. Newt was another hand helping but he didn’t bring the same way Theseus did when he caught rabbit after rabbit and a larger deer. They butchered the beasts and put the meat in pickling jars and dried out other cuts to save for the depth of winter. Newt’s father helped grow the fields and his mother knew her herbs and where to find them. Newt was better at that, knowing where in the forest to find the more rare ones, some even his mother hadn’t know of. Perhaps he could make his worth in that.

Newt woke each morning with his family and worked with whoever needed help that day, right until it was dark and time to sleep. The nights began to grow more colder and they kept the fires burning later. Newt ate bread and bits of meat for lunch during breaks in the fields with his father. He couldn’t work the scythe as well but he was decent at gathering the wheat and tying it into neat bundles. Other days he followed Theseus on the hunt and felt a bit bad for seeing animals far more than he ever admitted too.

“It’s not a bad thing, to have mercy in you,” Theseus told him kindly when the took a break and cleaned rabbits by the river.

Newt tried to look confused but Theseus knew him too well for it.

“Your eyes always dart when you see something, but then you hesitate to reveal whatever creature you saw,” Theseus explained. “I use to think you were distracted but now I can see your gaze is far sharper than you ever admit. You also ‘notice’ more in the winter when we've had bad hunts and need to meat more I realized.”

“Thee,” Newt felt shame swell in his chest, glancing at the other hunters who were out of earshot.

“It’s ok Newt, to have mercy. The Graves is fond of the forest after all, not just hunting and killing, but life as well, creatures and their natures. You know?” Theseus smiled reassuringly and Newt felt a great burst of affection for his elder sibling. Theseus had always been kind to Newt, doting on him when other siblings in the village fought far more.

“I’m a bit relieved really, you’ve got a really good shot with a bow Newt, if you aimed more to kill you’d probably be far better a hunter than me, then where would I be?” Theseus grinned and Newt felt himself return it.

“You've the favour of the Graves, you'd still be very useful for that alone,” Newt offered.

“I suppose but…” Theseus huffed. “That’s different, I don’t feel like I actually do anything really. I’ve never understood it. To have the favour of someone I’ve never even seen.”

Newt blinked, frowning a bit and glancing at the people not listening to them. Ill talk of the god was very frowned upon.

“Not that I’m not very grateful,” Theseus added quickly, glancing around as if the great god might be lurking around somewhere. “I just don’t understand why he likes me or how to make sure I’m doing what he wants. The elders say I’m doing just fine, but I feel like I should try more.”

Newt bit his lip to hold in all the questions that wanted to pour forth.

“But you see him, don’t you? During the ritual?”

Theseus nodded his head slowly.

“It’s hard to explain, you don't look at him.”

Newt nodded his head eagerly. Children weren't allowed to the nighttime ritual offering. The adults didn’t speak of it either beyond what you were to do. Keep your head down and offer thanks. Looking upon a god enraged them and they would kill you on the spot if you dared to glance up. Some said people couldn’t look at a god without ageing into dust immediately. Many had told Newt that the truth of it was he would be stuck blind if he dared to look upon a god. It sounded terrifying and utterly exhilarating.

“He’s never shown me any attention or anything, he just pauses at our family and seemed to look at us. Then he walks to the altar and takes what he wants and then leaves. It's over in a few minutes.”

Newt took the information carefully, turning it over in his head.

“No one sees him bring in the favour he gives?”

Graves always brought a deer, shot with a single arrow mark and always right in the head, an instant and painless death. It would appear at their doorstep every morning. Newt could hear the shuffle every time, coming awake but never once daring to open his eyes, heart pounding in fear every time.

Theseus shook his head.

“Everyone gets drunk and stumbles home, some people see it if they stay up all night but no one's ever seen him deliver it.”

Newt chewed his lip and considered keeping quiet. But the ‘thump thump’ of the god's footsteps would echo in his chest every time, the sound of breath like a great beast and the heafy thud of the deer on the doorstep burned into his memory over the years, since he was a boy. Newt had always thought everyone could hear it but never spoke of it.

“You’ve never… heard anything?” Newt whispered meekly and Theseus blinked at him, staring a moment.

“You’ve heard him?” He asked, his eyes going wide in a way that told Newt he shouldn’t have said anything.

The other hunters called them, ready to move on and Newt went hastily, feeling his brother’s gaze on him the entire time.

 

Newt avoiding being alone with Theseus after that and his brother left him be, but when he looked at Newt, his gaze was different, trying to place something it felt like.

“You helped with the honey last year,” Theseus mentioned over dinner the next night, Newt looking up at him. He chewed his meat and nodded his head in positive.

“And the flower wreaths the year before, and the jars of rabbit stew before that?”

“A bit, I help with lots of things though,” Newt replied with a bit of a confused frown.

“I know, it’s just, I was thinking and everything Graves takes from the altar, you’ve helped with, as far back as I can recall.”

Both of their parents looked up sharply, staring at Theseus.

Newt flushed and looked down at his plate, wishing his brother wouldn’t do this to him. Put such thoughts into his head. Newt wasn’t special, he was just Newt. He had no real skills, why would a god want him of all people?

“But you’re the better hunter,” Newt pointed out. “You're the one the village likes best and much better at everything than I am.”

“That’s not true,” their mum huffed, reaching out pat Newt’s arm affectionately.

“We’ve all skills and strengths of our own. Enough of this talk, you’ll bring discord on us,” she warned and they both nodded. Newt sent an apologetic thought to the Graves god, hoping he took no offence. Newt would be very grateful if for some reason the god did indeed favour Newt but was also content to let it be Theseus. He only wanted the village to be happy and safe.

Thankfully, Theseus kept his thoughts on the matter to himself after that and never said anything to anyone else. No one stared at Newt or muttered about him, just ignoring him as he always had been. Drifting through the village at ease, used to being left alone. He missed his morning walks and having time to visit the depths of the forests. It felt like it had been far too long since he saw Percival, since his body had that sort of relief.

But the celebration was tonight and once it was over Newt would have time to himself again. For now, he remained dedicated to his family and village.

It seemed both too fast and too slow for the actual night to come. The village spent the day in merriment, ending daily duties early to share in a large feast. Music played and children ran wild in the square, a good cheer shared by all. Theseus kept Newt close as usual, making a point to include him in conversations and others followed suit, willing to talk with Newt to please Theseus. Still, it was nice to make light chatter with the people he had grown up around. Newt sipped the mead given to him and looked over the square, his heart content and happy to see everyone else enjoying themselves. This was his home after all, and Newt just wanted to see it do well and flourish.

The sun finally began to fade and Newt felt himself get a bit excited for the evening ritual ceremony. He was the only one to come of age this year so no one else was to attend their first time. But Theseus coaxed people to talk about their experiences of their first ceremony. Newt had already talked with the village elders all month long on what was expected of him. How to act and what to do and not to do. Newt would go with his family and place something on the altar in offering to the Graves and then return to their place in the crowd and kneel down, heads bowed respectfully. Once all the offering were made, the god would arrive among them. No one had ever seen him properly but they all said it was clear he was there, that they could hear him walking and see glimpses of his robes as he walked among them. He would always pause at the Scamander family, a sign of favour, and then move on to the altar. Newt had only to remain kneeling with his head bowed down low. If he felt any sort of curiosity, he was to clench his eyes closed tightly. To look upon a god was a heavy sin that could cost the village dearly. The elders warned Newt that it was for their own safety as well, that to look upon a god would blind the person. Emily, an older woman in the village, was blinded as a young woman when she glanced up shamefully and her sight had never returned. People had whispered of it before but now Newt knew it truly was the why she had no sight. A fear buried in his heart to lose his own. He’d lose the forest itself if he couldn't see and he promised the elders very seriously he would not dare to look.

“Every now and then, someone will look and the village will be reminded of why not to,” the elder explained as Newt walked with him the day before.

“You must do well in this, with your family in favour. I know you like to be different and that’s fine and well, but in this, you must listen.”

Newt had nodded his head obediently, truly not wanting to offend anyone or bring discord to the village.

He had to remember the dangers of the situation rather than letting himself take risks. Newt had grown up in the forest, walking along steep cliffs and climbing high into trees. He knew he endangered himself sometimes, that the call was too strong for common sense to hold him back. But this was different, it wasn’t just Newt, but his family and the whole village.

He stamped down any sort of curiosity in him and resolved to adhere to this rule.  

 

Night came and the children were all sent to bed, time given so they would actually fall asleep. Newt could recall being settled in his bed with his mum telling him stories of Graves gently. Always she impressed the seriousness that Newt was to stay abed and not dare to leave it, lest the god’s wolves come and steal him away. They all told their children this story, to keep them in their beds so as not to dare offend the god. Willing to give the children a scare in order to keep order.

 

Once it was into the midnight hours, the altar candles were lit and the ritual began. The elders led the way, speaking of respect and honour. Of all the protection the god Graves granted them in return for their mere gratitude. They had nothing he needed, it was by his grace they lived their lives. That the harvest always fed them all and that illness passed over the village without touching them, that they found the game to keep them all fed through the winter and that children were born healthy. It was all by his will that darkness and evil stayed away and that pain and suffering were at a minimum.

Newt liked their god.

Liked Graves and his ways.

Some gods demand blood sacrifices and some gods made human life so easy they forgot how to mind themselves and became gluttons who needed their immortals to survive. Newt had heard of many gods all across the land, all wanting different things for various levels of protection and power in return. Sometimes people grew up and left their homes, seeking a god to suit them better. Newt had never felt any such pull, utterly happy under Graves. He was a sombre god but a kind one, an immortal hunter with a deep respect for all creatures that Newt also felt. A respect for all lives.

Newt preferred Graves to any other he had heard of and was happy to be in his village. Sometimes immortals grew fickle, gods and goddess’ leaving villages without warning, some displeased with poor offerings, some offended by the actions of the people. But Graves had helped found the village and had never left them. Just as they had never grown slack in their respect and gratitude.

Each season they held a celebration and ceremony to their god but the autumn was special, their time to offer to him. To share what they had gratefully. The whole village worked hard to create things befitting an immortal, putting their own differences or family dislikes aside to work together. Newt had helped since he was a boy, many times going to fetch something rare in the forest or something as simple as helping to hold something for someone. Over the years he became known for finding the finest flowers and herbs, picking the very best berries for jams. Newt would gather and give freely to the villagers, no one ever taking money for something that was to be offered, always giving. It created a unity that Newt always felt in his chest. Even an awkward boy who never fit in right felt that bond they all shared. Newt had always adored it.

“Ready?” Theseus asked softly, smiling encouragingly as their family went to make their offering. Newt nodded his head nervously.

They had made jars of rabbit stew for offering this year. Theseus catching the finest rabbit he could and Newt picked in best herbs and berries to flavour the meat. Their father growing vegetables and their mother preparing it all perfectly.

The altar was a great stone slab the length and width of a grown man, a heavy intimidating thing, with the symbol of Graves caved into the center. A great wolf skull with antlers, something very intimidating about the image. Candles specially made were lit in a circle to represent the seasonal cycle and hope that the years with the god would continue on without end. Around them were a great deadly looking set of antlers from a massive buck Theseus himself had killed many years ago, the finest set the village had seen given to represent their god. Special grasses braided into ropes and dried were burning, filling the air with their scent and washing over all the offerings, thought to make them ready for the god. Red flowers, the symbols of blood and hunt were laid out and among them an endless array of offerings. The finest foods prepared, hunting tools, gorgeous furs, bones laboriously carved into animal figures and decorated with great care, fragrant flowers and wreaths laid out as well.

Newt’s mum gently pushed at him and Newt stumbled forth, careful with the jar in his hands as he gently set it among the offerings. He bowed his head and said a soft prayer in thanks. Some immortals had specific words for prayers but Graves never had. He disliked chanting and such, preferring silent prayers unique to each person. So Newt offered his own within his mind and then stepped back. Theseus hooked their arms and led Newt away with his family. They went back to their place in the crowd, two groups of people lined loosely with a wide space between them for the god to arrive and walk. The were lined up by when their family joined the village, the founders at the front and each row back showing when the families had come and settled into the village.

Newt went onto his knees and bowed his head with his family. Now he was to offer his prayers as other gave their offerings. He did try to keep focused on thoughts of appreciation and esteem but his mind always loved to wander. Once they were done and the god had come, they would begin their night festivity, lighting a great bonfire and drinking to the god. The offerings on the altar not taken would be given to the individuals by the elders, they would decide who needed what the most. Graves disliked waste and so it seemed fitting to do it this way. The elders did everything very fairly as well, favouring any family with less and helping those who needed it. Sharing so they might all have good lives. Appreciation filled his chest, knowing that personal wants and greed was put aside for this. No one ever complained of who got what from the offerings, never once jealous but rather admiring and happy for each other. It felt a bit like the gods work, keeping dark emotions away from the celebration so that it bonded them all closely. Newt offered up a deep thanks to the immortal, for blessing them.

Theseus touched his arm lightly and it brought Newt from his thoughts, making him realize the offering was done now.

Nervousness swept through him. Everyone was kneeling, facing the altar, head bowed low in prayer.

Theseus offered Newt a reassuring look before he closed his eyes. People tempted to look closed their eyes and Newt’s gaze swept around, realizing many people had done so. Far more than he had expected.

The candles flickered in an odd wind and Newt snapped his head down, heart pounding. Wind chimes carved from fallen trees in the forest and bones from strong hunts clattered softly on either side of the altar.

Newt wasn’t sure what to expect but he felt something deep in his chest the moment the god Graves arrived. Something in him knowing, the hairs on his neck standing and fear warring with awe.

When Newt had been twelve or so he had been fishing idly on a summer day, napping in the warm sun a bit. He had felt a pull on his fishing line and woke up, blinking open sleepy eyes to find a bear right beside him. Not even an arm's length away, the great beast eating the fish caught on his line. Newt’s heart had dropped to his stomach and his whole body had gone still. The predator’s gaze landing on him as it chewed, crunching bones easily. After an endless moment, the bear had turned and meandered away along the river, leaving Newt trembling in exhilaration. Percival had come and calmed him but that moment had remained with Newt.   

It felt the same now, that same giddy sort of terror echoing in his very being.

The air felt heavier in a way, his breath shallower and loud seeming. Newt stared at the ground before him, eyes tracing the lines of the cobblestones over and over. The god didn’t make a great clatter but his footsteps were heard, soft sounds of bare skin on stone Newt realized. His mind somehow shocked that a god wouldn’t wear boots of all things.

He was shaking, he realized weakly that his whole body trembling. The family was lined up by age, Newt on the edge of the group with his brother at his right side and the walkway for the god on his left. He could smell pine trees and felt the chill of the mountain air creep over him. The tang of blood on his tongue and that carnal feeling of Percival’s tongue up his spine. His emotions warring within him and all jumbled and confused, none sure which were dominant at the moment.

Newt saw the edge of a fur cloak and the dark toes with an uncaring splatter of mud on them. It was vaguely human but also not, much larger than a person. He clenched his eyes closed immediately, praying an apology and hoping his sight wouldn't leave him or he wouldn't age into dust suddenly. He nearly startled out of his skin when Theseus took his hand, holding Newt’s fingers tightly and grounding him. Fear clawed at his throat and Newt swallowed heavily, feeling tears burn in his eyes held tightly shut.

He jerked again when he felt something touch his face, heat on his cheek as his tears fell. A large hand cupping his face. The god was enormous, his hand cradling Newt’s head easily. His long fingers were rough and calloused, like the pad of an animal's feet. Claws dragged through Newt’s hair as Graves shifted his hold and cupped the back of Newt’s neck.

Newt whimpered out, feeling the hand pull at him, wanting him to stand. Theseus shifted beside him tellingly. Something in him knew immediately and Newt’s fear for his brother pushed passed his own. He opened his eyes and let go of Theseus’s hand to slap his hand over his brother’s eyes before he could look upon the god. Theseus was twisted towards them rather than facing forward like everyone else, trying to protect Newt.

“Don’t,” Newt managed to say, feeling a ripple among the crowd, everyone knowing something different was happening. The hand on his neck pulled and Newt went, sliding his hand off his brother’s face slowly. Theseus looked deeply upset but his eyes remained closed.

Newt stood on unsteady feet and let the god lead him up to the altar, his feet tripping over one another. The hand on his neck was hot and Newt’s gaze was on the ground, trying to look at his own boots and ignore the god in the side of his vision, a dark brown fur cloak hanging off him and dark fine trousers clinging to his calf. His bare feet calloused but the skin undamaged.

They came before the altar and Newt swallowed weakly, his heart pounding too hard for too long now.

Some gods took sacrifices, killed people, some ate their hearts from their chest. Graves had never done such a thing but Newt had never heard of him taking someone to the altar before.

Fear consumed him but Newt didn’t dare run or fight. Even in the height of fear for himself, he didn’t dare offend a god. The village would perish without Graves guarding them.

Newt glanced back over the crowd. Their mother had her arms around Theseus, physically holding him in place as she cried softly, both of them with eyes clenched tight. The sight of them oddly took the fear away, cutting it like a cord pulled taut snapping. It gave way and Newt felt a strange calm settled over him.

There was nothing he would not give his family.

The hand left his neck and took his hand. Newt’s palm down and touching the god’s own palm, his hand tiny and frail looking against the gods. His skin was a grey colour with black fingertips and long onyx claws on each finger. There was bits of dried blood on his skin, the scent of an animal clinging with spruce and dirt. He smelt like to forest in a way.

Newt watched the gods other hand reach and select a red flower with white edges, a carnation. He lifted it up and tucked into Newt’s hair and he could feel it… moving. The urge to swat it away was hard but the god held his hand, gently squeezing and Newt stayed still as the flower in his hair grew and the stem and leaves crawled across his hair into a circled around his brow.

Graves reached for a jar of golden honey, tipping the lid off with one hand and keeping hold of Newt’s with his other. He dipped a finger and brought it out coated, reacting to rub it on Newt’s lip. It tasted sweet and the scent of it filled his nose. The god's fingers felt too warm and lingered on his lips, lazily rubbing along Newt’s bottom lip.

The touch felt...lustful.  

Newt felt a shiver pass along his spine for a whole new reason.

Graves never had, but many gods and goddess’ picked human consorts, mortals to enjoy as they pleased. Companions that never married other humans, always devoted to the favour of the god. But they were always the most lovely people, who were blessed with great beauty, enough to attract immortals.

It made no sense.

But Graves hand left Newt’s own and cupped his waist, the large hand sliding along Newt’s back, fingers spread possessively. A lover’s touch.

Newt trembled as the god stepped toward him. He couldn’t help but step back, pushing his back against the altar and looking for a way to escape. Newt had no real choice, but his mind jumped to Percival, to his beastly lover and all the adoration he had for him. It made his heart hurt, to think another would touch him.

A stray tear ran down his cheek as the god bowed down, having to go to his knees so their heights were close enough for Graves to lean in and kiss Newt. The honey made it sticky, the god's tongue swiping with lustful hunger, licking Newt’s lip clean before he kissed again. His tongue pushed deeper, claiming Newt and breathing a hot breath into his mouth. It felt like it rushed down his throat and into his chest, his lungs aching like they had expanded more than ever before as he sucked in air. Graves pulled back slowly, lingering to taste Newt as he pleased, his hands on Newt’s back and hip, exploring.  

The scent and taste of him clung to Newt’s senses and something about them were distinctly... familiar.

Gathering courage, Newt looked upon the god before him, lifting his eyes to look upon his face.

Percival looked back, dark eyes distinctly amused and Newt wanted to cry out and hit the horrid monster. His hands even balled into fists but he stopped himself, recalling that this was Graves, the god of his village. Newt blinked, his mind realizing suddenly that his adored monster and the god he worshiped were the same being. Relief mixed with shock.

“You’re…” he whispered, “All this time, you were…” Newt’s voice was filled with a sense of wonder. He didn’t know what to think but at the same time, he felt silly for not knowing long ago. He had never spared a thought to what creature Percival was. When he was a boy he had met the monstrous man and given him a name as he did with all creatures he saw often. Newt had never thought Percival was anything more than a magical predator of the forest.

The hands on him squeezed in a reprimand and Newt started, realizing Percival could hear his thoughts. Something otherworldly telling Newt this, teaching him things without words. He felt a wash of amusement and deep satisfaction that weren't his own. Graves was pleased with Newt, had been waiting for many years for him to grow and come of age to be mated. Percival had spent so long exploring sex with Newt, had been so eager but never had he tried to mate Newt proper.

He had to wait.

Had to make the claim on Newt suitably.

The god was much larger than Newt, he barely stood at his chest level and was tiny and slim in comparison to the powerful build before him. He looked human almost, but his skin was a mix of greys more human shades, his hands had claws and his teeth gleamed with fangs. His eyes glowed a dark gold and a pair of powerful antlers sat atop his crown. They seemed too large to be held up but Percival seemed to move his head without effort. He watched Newt take him in, patient and willing to let Newt adjust, fondness for him swelling in both their chests.    

Newt cupped his face, fingers running on skin that was smooth but felt immovable, nothing like the frailty of a human. He was hot to the touch, Newt feeling warmed crowded against the altar by the god as he was. His smirk was utterly sinful as Percival leaned in and kissed Newt again, lust rushing through him now that he knew his monster and god were the same. Newt’s hands curled around the god’s neck, returning the kiss deeply and letting Percival taste his mouth.

He had always been a bit more monstrous, always half animal or more closer to a beast of some sort. Ever changing his shape to suit him as he pleased. Now he was as close to a human as he could be, here to take Newt as his little mate. Hands cupped Newt’s backside and squeeze, pulling at his leggings, wanting to bare his skin.

Someone shifted in the crowd, enough of a noise to snap Newt from his daze. He pulled away, looking over the god’s shoulder to the crowd of people all kneeling still, heads bowed still as well. Theseus looked more calmed but his face was a bright red.

Embarrassment rushed over Newt and he tried to squirm away from Graves. The god refused to let him go, an inquiry echoing in Newt’s mind.

“I can’t…” he protested weakly. “Not here, not in f-front of everyone,” he explained and Percival was unmoved.

The people had to see, had to witness the claim so that they all knew, Newt belonged to Graves, he was his and he would share him with no other. This was what he took from the village, Newt’s body his own to sate his lust on.

“They’ll know, they don’t need, you don’t have to...they already know I’m yours,” Newt fumbled to say, trying to push Graves hands off his hip and backside. The god refused to budge. Stubbornness filling Newt.

He would be claimed, his little mate taken properly for the first time, filled and marked.

Newt felt a rush of lust but tried to protest as the god leaned in and licked at his neck, clever tongue taking Newt’s words. He pushed at Percival but felt like a little fish flapping at a great big bear for all he could do.

His skin felt wet and cool where Percival licked at him, hands pulling Newt’s leggings down firmly, the cloth ripping in his eagerness.

Newt slapped a hand over his own mouth to muffle his sound when the god bend down to lick at his bare hip. His shirt was pulled at and it gave way as well, cloth ripping like dried leaves in the god's grip. That wet hot tongue lapped at Newt’s skin. His free hand gripped Graves sharp horns, fingers curling around them as the god pressed Newt to the altar and lifted him a touch, sitting Newt on the edge. His feet left the ground and his thighs were pressed wide immediately for the smug god to bury his face.

He just couldn’t look at the crowd around them, humiliation still running through his veins. Newt looked down and watched the god smirk up at him before he licked at the inside of Newt’s bare thigh, moving up to run his tongue over his poor cock. It was hard despite the ridiculous situation, eager for attention. Something clattered beside him, honey touching his thigh as the jar overturned and spilled, other things clattering to the ground but not breaking when they should have.

Graves dragged his fingers through the sticky mess and smeared it over Newt’s body, along his belly and over his erection and down to his hole. He sobbed into his hand, feeling the god follow the trail with his tongue as his fingers pressed at Newt's body, seeking entry. His fingers were thick, much fuller than a human and Newt winced at the burn as one sank into him.

Percival sucked thick gobs of honey off Newt’s stomach and then curled his tongue over his cock, sliding it into his mouth just as he sank his finger deeper into Newt. His knees jerked, thighs wanting to close but the god was pressed between them.

New clenched his eyes closed, trying to pull away from everything. From the feelings assaulting his body and the fact the entire village was there hearing it. At least no one was looking at them, all their heads tucked down. If he could just be quiet he thought frantically, part of him almost laughing with how utterly out of control everything was.

The wet heat on his cock and finger inside him took his attention quickly, Percival sliding his finger back as he pulled off Newt’s cock and tipped his hips so he could follow the honey. Newt laid back, eager to open his eyes and look to the night sky instead of the crowd. The candles dripped hot wax beside his head as offering and flowers were all around him, more falling as he knocked them over unintentionally. His muscles twitched, quivering, his feet on Percival’s shoulders, legs up and spread open as the god licked at his hole.

Both of his hands cupped over his mouth to try and keep the moans inside as he felt the heat of that tongue lap over him and then press in demandingly. The pointed tip pushing until it was invading him. Fingers pressed with the tongue, all of them wanting entry as Newt sobbed. He felt the first and then second ease into him, Graves saliva slicking the way somehow.

Newt own fingers had never felt so huge, his body opened up so wide it felt like. The drag of them, pulling back and sinking in made him tremble and his thighs clenched down.

He felt a swell of fond amusement wash over him, Percival hungry to claim him but also very much endeared to Newt. There was no rush to him as he lapped and fingered Newt, playing with his hole and his cock until Newt was dizzy with it, lust going back and forth between them. Need and desire building, Newt laid on the altar and being devoured by a god. His muffled voice rising higher despite his best attempts to be quiet.

The massive antlers finally raised high and the god Percival wiped his mouth absently, gaze intent on Newt as he moved to loom over him.

The god was large in all ways. Newt’s face flushing hotly against the cool night air when he felt the bulge run along the curve of his backside. Graves undid his trousers and his cock was truly a staggering size. Surely he didn’t think Newt would be able to take such a thing within himself.

Another rush of amusement and reassurance coursed through him. Percival leaned down to kiss Newt once more, rough and possessive as his hands took hold of Newt’s thighs and spread them wide. He was laid out on his back over the altar and the god was above him, pressing in close.

Newt whimpered into the kiss, Percival’s tongue commanding as it slid into his mouth and Newt felt him press up against his backside, hard and urgent. He tried to shake his head, tried to deny the god something that would surely rip him. But Percival ignored his pleas, flooding Newt with encouragement and a promise not to hurt him. The tip was dripping and felt hot against his skin as it pressed in and kissed his hole lewdly. Clutching at Percival's broad shoulders, Newt sobbed when he felt the first forceful push. He tried to get away without thinking but the hands on his thighs held him still as he felt his body give way. Percival had to give no effort to hold him, Newt so weak in comparison to him. It was both terror inducing and sparking something hot and hungry in him.

The god took his claim.

It should have hurt far more, should have tore him. But Newt’s body accepted the girth, stretching wide to take the god’s cock into his smaller body. It felt overwhelming, far too much for him, his whole body feeling taunt as the fat length eased into him. Claiming him in this intimate way.

Newt broke the kiss with a gasp, swallowing whimpers as Percival pushed onward, determined to have it all buried into Newt. To make the claim proper and clear.

His head turned to the side and Newt shivered to catch a glance at the crowd and be reminded of where he was. In the town square, laid out before a god with his entire village present.

Emotions twisted, humiliation and embarrassment making tears burn in his eyes as Percival grumbled gently for his silly fears but kept going still. On and on it felt, as if there would be no end, Newt’s body opened in a way it never had been, the last claim of his virtue taken.

Affection seeped into him from the god, Percival pressing soft kisses to Newt’s brow, so pleased with him. Newt clung to the immortal, trying to simply take what was given and trembling the entire time. It was cold out on the autumn night in the village square but the chill didn’t reach him properly, the heat the god was giving off feeling like Newt was tucked close to a fire.

Finally, Percival had pressed in as far as he could, hips pushed against Newt’s thighs. He settled there, letting Newt adjust to the feeling. The burn of the stretch and the sensation of something inside him there, someone. Percival kissed his brow, tongue slipping out to lick affectionately like an animal. The action turning very lewd as the god moved to nip at Newt’s ear and gently bit at his neck. Pointed fangs grazing along his skin, capable of ripping his throat out at any moment. It should have woken fear in Newt, not stir his belly, making him more lustful. He arched his back a bit, pressing into the bite and Percival rumbled in answering approval.

When he shifted and pulled back, something lit behind Newt’s eyelids. Pleasure like nothing before it suddenly capturing him. The drag inside his body making his toes curl and his cock twitch. Percival’s cock was doing something amazing, the friction somewhere inside Newt making him gasp out helplessly.

The god chuckled, dark and sinful against Newt’s neck before he pushed back in with a sudden motion. The thrust nearly winding Newt as he was pressed between the unyielding stone of the altar and the equally unyielding body of a immortal. But he barely noticed it compared to the pleasure singing through him. Like a nerve being teased with the perfect pressure and motion. Percival began to rock in and out of him, still holding Newt's thighs as he pumped into his much smaller body. Newt sobbed out, hunger and pleasure twisting him up inside. Sex had always felt so good but this was something completely different. Something he’d never experienced before.

Percival's pleasure echoed in his chest and Newt whined out, thighs spreading wide of their own choice now. The sheer size of the immortal over him, his great antlers looming and the way he was so much more than a mere man excited Newt terribly. He’d worried no one would be as good as his monster lover and here he was soundly corrected. Every time Graves slid into him Newt gasped out, a rhythmic sound in the night air. The wet carnal sound of their mating accompanying it, the god's saliva leaving Newt dripping wet. The altar under him was creaking as well, there was no doubt what was happening, even if no one looked, they would now.

Pride surged in Newt, pleasure at this perfect claim, this pure delightful boy would be all his now, his for every breath of his life. Newt’s thoughts lost among the gods as Percival growled out and began to move more feverously. Lust rising in them both, entwined as Newt cried out. Percival’s hand let go of his thighs, the burn making Newt realized he had bruises and claw marks on his thighs now. With a thought not to harm his delicate mate, Percival rested his forearms on either side of Newt on the altar, things falling off as they rutted like animals. His long tongue licked at Newt’s neck and shoulder, ravishing him and leaving gentle bite marks along his skin.

Even with care, the god's motions were furious and powerful. Newt unable to do anything but take them, the wet slap of skin on skin increasing as he fucked into Newt, took him in all ways.

Something was building beyond flesh and pleasure, Newt’s chest burning in an odd way, his heart pounding so hard. Sweat trickled down his brow as he wrapped his arms around the god’s neck and pressed his head against his chest to hide. He voice sounding so loud as he cried out but Newt was unable to muffle it anymore.

He moaned as he felt himself begin to fall over the edge, the moment in time seeming to slow as Newt came. Percival linked to him, pulled with him, his cock inside Newt pulsing and swelling to spill his seed deep. Newt clenched his eyes closed, feeling everything in him trembling apart.

 

Newt sat quietly in his forest, looking around and seeing it all as it should be. Everything was right and nothing needed to be changed. Despite that, he found himself...lacking. There was a hunger for something more. Life without end did grow to be very monotonous.

A tiny human boy with copper hair and sunkissed skin walked through the forest, far too young to be without its mother, a curious thing to see. Newt watched as it giggled and looked around, eyes so wide and filled with wonder, the world all new to it and there was something lovely about that innocence.

A deer paused in its meal, looking up at the child. Newt thought the human would startle or chase, born predators. But the babe settled down in the grass and watched the deer without a word, enraptured with it but without any sort of hunger to harm. Curious, Newt made the flowers near him bloom and the child smiled in delight, the sun shining on him to make a pretty picture. He was lovely, his purity running deep. There was no aggression in him, a bit odd, for a predator to lack that hunger. But he didn’t seem less for it at all. If anything the child felt more in tune to the earth than most humans.

But the wonder, the sheer depth of amazement to sit in a mere field and look around. To be that innocent and young to the world. Newt was drawn in by it, wanting to see each new experience and discovery as the world unfolded before this little human.

“I don’t remember this,” Newt said softly, slowly realizing the child was himself. His Percival was sitting on a fallen tree, watching him with Newt’s current self settled in his lap comfortably.

“Too young, mortal minds forget quickly,” Percival rumbled and Newt started, twisting to look up at him. His first ever words to Newt. His voice low and a rumbling sound like thunder in the distance. The god leaned down to kiss him soundly, affection bleeding into Newt, warmth and love that was both his and Percival's passing between them.

“Did you always know?” Newt asked, looking back to his younger self, seeing Theseus come calling for him. His voice was too loud in the forest, not in harmony at all. He stomped through the land, stepping on plants trying to grow. His scent heavy and unsetting the animals around him that he did not notice, his human senses so dull. Theseus was like a proper human, half blind and not seeming to feel the ebb and flow of the world around him. Newt was unique, still clutching his link from birth that most humans had outgrown. But the little boy in the forest still had it and kept it safe. It would remain with him always, Percival so pleased Newt never grew human, never turned blind and mute to the earth.

“Always. A pretty little human to grow tall and come of age, to take into my arms and make my own,” Percival rumbled and Newt felt the possessiveness sweep through him. This forest was his and all the creature lived by his permission, everything was his to take as he pleased and this little human was no different.

Newt huffed out, amused with the arrogance of such thoughts.

Percival growled at his ear, not truly bothered. He kissed Newt’s ear and then trailed lower, tipping Newt’s head to the side to gently sink his teeth into his neck. The pressure increased slowly, pain building up, Newt whimpered but bore it, feeling blood run down his skin as the fangs sank into him.

His little mate.

His.

 

Newt woke in the morning light, blinking his eyes sleepily. He wasn’t ready to be awake but something called. He lifted his head and found himself in his family home, his mother and father sleeping across from him. Theseus behind him as always. Newt sat up and found himself bare, dried blood and seed clinging to his skin all over. He wrinkled his nose at such a mess and carefully sat up. He ached but not as badly as he had expected, his backside not in agony. He touched his neck and found the mark of a scar rather than a throbbing new bite. The pain of it already healed over. New was wrapped up in a fur cloak that dragged on the floor, far too big and burying him, the one Graves had worn. It smelt so nice and was very soft and comfortable, making Newt smile to recall the god himself.

His bare feet padded on the dirt floor of their home. The morning cold seemed present but unable to sink into Newt’s bones as it usually did. Yawning, Newt pushed his hair from his eyes and found something in his hair, flowers still woven into his locks, fragrant as he touched them.

Newt went to their door and pulled it open gently, standing in the doorway without knowing why. The village was quiet now, the bonfire from last night still smouldering faintly with fire watchers sleeping around it. So they had celebrated, he thought distantly, everything feeling so far away yet. As if it was more of a dream, walking and acting without feeling present.  

Rose bushes that hadn’t been there before covered the side of his family's house, reaching up to cover it with pretty flowers. Newt admired them a moment and then tipped his head at the sound of footsteps. Percival was coming to him, the god in his beast form but much larger than Newt had ever seen before. He carried a fresh kill in his jaws, a large deer that he placed at Newt’s feet affectionately.

“Oh…” Newt realized it was the morning after, the night coming back with more clarity. The fact that he had mated with the god, that he was Percival’s consort now, from every moment until his last breath and beyond even.

Graves gave him his hunt to show his affection to Newt, to show he would provide. His form changing before Newt until the god's human form stood looming over him. With a soft smile, he leaned down and Newt tipped his head up so the god could offer him a sweet kiss in greeting. His eyes slipped closed only a moment and when he blinked them awake, Percival was gone. The deer still at Newt’s feet in an offering. His lips still warmed by the touch.

Newt pressed his fingers to his mouth and smiled softly to himself.

His first ritual offering.

It had been better than he expected.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tadaaaaaaaa. 
> 
> Newt, you oblivious boy. 
> 
> What kinda theme should my Halloween fic be?
> 
> Working on other things as well! Previews and snippets posted on [my tumblr.](https://the-miss-lv.tumblr.com/)


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